


On the road, I found home

by TotemundTabu



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Flash Fic, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 00:31:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4726034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/pseuds/TotemundTabu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FRANCIS/ALFRED - FRUS - PG as it can be - A flashfic for my girlfriend who was in need of fluff - A young American boy is travelling across the states and, hungry and in need of warmth, enter in a bakery in the middle of his road. The bakery is owned by a sassy Frenchman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the road, I found home

Aaaah this is just a flashfic for my partner <3 since she is so beautiful and needs fluff <3

* * *

 

_**On the road, I found home** _

* * *

 

Alfred entered in the shop turning a couple of times around, indecisive about what to buy. The rain surprised him and he couldn't find any other place on the road than that small french bakery – the  _C'est bon bon_ – on the border. It was fricking sticking cold outside, the type of cold that passes through your muscles as a knife and that creeps inside your bones, so Alfred didn't have much choice about what to do. That travel through the States was more or less driving him slightly insane, especially since his car roof broke, letting the rain and the snow enter into his car and torment him, and at that point, after two days driving without stop with rain drops falling into his hoodie and eating nothing more than chips and the boiled eggs his step-father Arthur prepared for him - “Pocket immediate energy!”, he said – he couldn't crave more than a warm meal, a boiling coffee and, possibly, some dry clothes. 

As he entered, he heard a very soft, waxy music, that run around the air sweetly. The scent was damn inviting and Alfred found himself salivating greedily in front of the cakes and treats.

God, he would have bought everything...

Also because the portions seemed a bit small for his tastes.

“May I help you?”

Alfred turned and his eyes met a vision, or, better, the owner of the shop: the man looked slightly shorter than him, maybe a couple centimeters?, athletically skinny, big smile, sweet deep blue eyes and, ngh, long hair. Fuck, his weakness: long, curly, blond hair. The stubble didn't convince him much but it kinda fit.

The guy inclined an eyebrow, confused and repeated, slowly, “May I help you?”

“Ah, ah, sure, hm... - he scratched his nape, panicking slightly – I... I'm hungry.”

The guy hid a small scoff, smiling, “I see.”

Alfred felt a bit bit: he took back his thoughts, that guy was an asshole. A mocking asshole. Normally he would have just go away from there, but then he remembered his wet car and the lack of food and the road seemed infinite...

“Yeah, hm, can I have something warm?”

The man smiled, this time showing Alfred a jerring smirk. Smug. He didn't like it.

“Sit where you want, I'll bring you the menu in a second. - he seemed to then fall back into a gentle move, as he asked – Do you maybe want something salty too?”

Alfred frowned, “Isn't this just sweets?”

The guy chuckled.

He chuckled. God, Alfred could feel his veins on the point to...

“I live above here and you look like an half-starved puppy. - he smiled, kindly – I can't promise anything special, but as long as it's some soup, a nice chicken sandwhich or so, I can fix you something.”

“Oh...”, Alfred mumbled, trying to decide whether to accept or not: he didn't like being teased but he would have killed for a warm chicken sandwhich.

His stomach growled, as to demand a vote into the discussion.

The man smiled, “The gods require a sacrifice, I see... - he smiled, his hair moving slightly, following his swift movements – Any allergies or things you don't like?”

“...ah, not a big veggie fan.”

“I guessed, you are american.”, he blinked slowly, smiling.

“And is it bad?”

“No, not really. Better than brits, anyway. - he went into a small door and half-sung, speaking loudly – If you want, help yourself with the sweets, I'll bring you coffee too... long, right?”

“Long?”

“Watery, not espresso.”

“Do I look like an espresso kinda guy?”

“No. - he smiled again, naughtly – Not really.”

Alfred pouted, indecisive whether to get offended or not and sat on the closest table with a sofa chair. He contemplated a bit the cakes, waiting though for the guy to come back.

After a couple of minutes, he saw a pretty girl coming out of the same door the guy entered in. She had a very similar appearance: tall, slender, nice legs, long blond hair, kept together in a small braid, but her expression was completely different from the guy's one, it was serious and calm.

“Ah... Francis didn't tell me we had a client.”

“It's a friend.”, the guy said, coming behind her, with his hands full of stuff.

She raised her eyebrows, not believing him, “I see, that's why you give yourself so much trouble...” and then left the room without saying much else. Francis turned to Alfred and gave a shy smile and a small “Sorry”.

“Is she your girlfriend?”, Alfred mumbled, curious.

“No, no... - he seemed amused – She is my sister, Monique... she owns a flower shop close here so sometimes she leaves in my apartment some seeds or flowers...”

He put on the table a small red trail with four small dishes, each covered with a rounded bulding lid; Alfred was still staring at the dishes, trying to guess which to open first, as he felt something warm and heavy on his shoulders.

“Mh?”

“I thought you needed a blanket. - the man smiled again – I'll get you a coffee now, I'm sorry, my hands were a bit busy.”

Alfred blinked, perplexed and puzzled: how could that mocking man be the same as this kind person offering extra.

“...emh, why did you say I'm a friend?”

“My sister is a bit strict when it comes to money. - he winked – And this is for free. Just pay the coffee and it's fine.”

Alfred's eyes widened, “Really, what, but!”

“I insist. - he smiled again – Also I'd feel guilty in making you pay, … - he waited a second but didn't get the reaction he seemed to want, so sighed a bit, entendered, and asked explicitly – Your name?”

“Alfred!”

“...Alfred.”, he went to the coffee machine, humming again a song that Alfred couldn't understand the lyrics of.

The American hesitated a bit, then opened the lids of the dishes, discovering what seemed like an heavenly meal: a croque madame which sent a delicious scent and had a deep, goldened, yellow colour he didn't think one could get without colorings, then there was onion soup with croutons at side, a sandwhich with grilled chicken, salad, red onions and honey which had the sent of the best thing after Jesus, and in the last dish goldened potatoes that seemed done in pan, then spinaches with a soft buttery sauce over and something that looked like glazed baby carrots and pumpkin cubes.

He didn't see so much yummy food since Thanksgiving.

He turned to thank the guy and he found him coming close with a big cup of coffee. By the side there was a small, pink, cookie.

“What's that?”

“A rose macaron. - he explained – The cream inside is made with real rose petals.”

Alfred couldn't resist and put it in the mouth, quickly, eagerly. The guy stared at him, blinking, as if he never saw anything more voracious.

But as soon as the taste hit his tongue, Alfred understood he made a mistake because he should have savored it way longer.

“Holy shit.”

Francis laughed, amused.

“Holy shit. - he repeated, munching and passing his tongue through his mouth, trying to get all the flavor he could – That's amazing.”

“R-really?”, the man seemed a bit embarrassed, he caressed his hair, then seemed to shake and regain his proud, smug look, because he claimed, “I mean, of course, we just prepare the best.”

Alfred showed his puppy eyes to the Frenchman and then, with a low chuckle, he went to the case and picked another one. This time Alfred tasted it better: slowly, gently, he broke it in his mouth and felt it all: the sugary yet not overlysweet shell of almond that gave a clean, decisive tone, with a slightly bitter aftertaste, then the cream, fresh, yet intense, and perfectly sweet melted on his tongue. The scent, like perfume, haunted his mouth with the delicious persistence of a kiss.

Alfred lowered his face, hiding it a bit, flustered, while the man stared at him with a knowingly and tender look as if he saw the boy as a child or a small animal.

“Was it good?”

“...delicious. - Alfred admitted, swallowing – Hey, what's your name?”

“Francis. - he smirked – Francis Bonnefoy. - he sucked his bottom lip, letting in his eyes a lewd and lustful gleam rise – Have a good meal, Alfie.”

The american boy felt every hair on his body tensing as his name rolled on Francis' tongue.

He sighed, finding himself clumsy and speechless, and decided to start eating, filling his stomach with energy as soon as possible, but it was almost impossible, as he bit the food, sinking teeth in the bread or the meat, tasting the potatoes or the soft, creamy soup, not to feel like slowing down, savoring every single bite and take hours to finish. It was like a part of him wanted to stay there forever, separating himself from time, from places, even from himself.

That homely atmosphere he never felt not even in his house caught him unprepared and unarmed.

He felt as if that never met before Francis opened his heart, lifted the lid on it, and jjust bit it off, devouring it.

He felt naked. He felt known.

He swallowed, looking at Francis, from time to time, as he cleaned the shop. His golden hair shone in the pale light coming from the clouds leaving the sky.

And then he realized the macarons shared Francis' perfume, his delicate, sweet scent. And exactly like those, the Frenchman seemed to hide under that graceful frame a way deeper, more intense side.

Alfred shivered, craving.

He took a napkin and scribbled quickly, in a clumsy yet still understandable and simple

handwriting. He put it under a ten dollar piece, the only thing he had in cash, and then stood up.

Francis turned, smiling, but his eyes betrayed sadness as he saw Alfred not sitting anymore.

“Are you going away?”

“I'm heading off to the border. - he explained, embarrassed, scratching his nape – Kinda doing an on the road travel before college.”

“That sounds very you. - he commented, forcing himself to smile again – Then good luck, I guess.”

Alfred nodded, making a low awkward sound as if he suffocated a word he didn't dare, the forced himself to and kissed Francis' cheek quickly. The Frenchman was about to reply, but he was caught by surprise and just touched his cheekbone gently, while an extremely flustered american blondie rushed out of the place.

He frowned, as he heard the sound of the motor, confused.

His eyes fell on the small napkin under a payment way bigger than he expected and, as in one hand he held the wrinkled cash, in the other held the message, reading eagerly.

The message was truly simple but Francis seemed to read it over and over, as something was missing or, better, as if he couldn't believe it.

 

_I'll return in four days._

_Is there a cinema around here? Cause I'm totally taking you there._

_Make more of those macarons._

 

Francis chuckled, flattered, happy. That cold, drenched, puppy turned out to be really cute.

He sighed, happily, looking around in his shop that, for once, more than a workplace felt truly like his home... a home to share.

“I'll wait for you then, Alfie...”

 

 


End file.
